


every time we lie awake

by AnonTheMoose



Series: i hate, you hate (you love me) [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Liam being a cutie, M/M, Stiles being Fed Up With This Shit, Theo being an asshole
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-06
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-09-15 06:47:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9223709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonTheMoose/pseuds/AnonTheMoose
Summary: [Direct continuation toi hate everything about you (why do i love you)]Stiles gets woken up every hour as Theo checks on his concussion. Stiles is not pleased about this.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Oh my goodness, you guys are amazing. Thanks so much for your comments, you all had me grinning with a level of bashfulness that probably doesn’t suit me given the content of these fics. 
> 
> Also, don’t take this fic as medical advice. Theo got part of the whole concussion-treatment thing right? But you’re meant to also ask a bunch of basic questions like _what’s your name, what day is it, what did you have for dinner last night, do you remember what happened to you,_ etc that Theo doesn’t ask. Plus some other stuff. Basically, here’s my legit medical advice: if someone has a concussion, take them to a doctor and get the doctor to tell you what to do. :)

Concussions suck.

 

Having to be woken up every hour to make sure you haven’t slipped into unconsciousness or death sucks.

 

 _Theo Raeken_ sucks.

 

“Whazzit,” Stiles mumbles, flapping an impatient hand at whoever it is that’s shaking his shoulder insistently, but making a valiant effort to extract his head from under the pillow. No one ever wakes him up in the middle of the night unless there’s an emergency, and for that, he needs his head to be not under a pillow. “Zit the D’ctors?”

 

“No – just making sure you’re not dead,” says – Theo? Yeah, Theo – from somewhere nearby, and… o…kay, cool, that doesn’t sound too dire, then. So long as no one’s actively being mauled or disembowelled or kidnapped, Stiles can probably go back to sleep. Right? He’s pretty sure. Stiles’ brain feels like a bucket full of fog right now, he’s so tired. Also, his head hurts? Sleeping’ll probably fix that, he figures. Maybe. If it’s not dire, whatever it is can wait til morning.

 

“’m not dead,” Stiles assures sluggishly, because he’s not. “’m I need’d?”

 

“Not currently,” Theo says, so Stiles makes a noise of acknowledgement and lets himself slip back under.

 

………

 

The next time, he’s grumpier.

 

“What, what is it, I’m awake, what, what do you want,” he grumbles, slapping at the hand shaking his shoulder and squirming out from under his pillow to glare blearily into the darkness.

 

“Just checking that concussion of yours,” Theo says from beside him, and Stiles squints at him by the light of the moon through the window for a long moment.

 

“Fuck off,” he says eventually, and retreats back under his pillow.

 

………

 

The third time, he’s aware enough to know what’s going on when the shoulder-shaking draws him up and out of sleep.

 

“I will remove your fangs with a set of rusty pliers,” Stiles threatens, but the threat might be slightly ruined by the fact that he is (and sounds) mostly asleep when he says it.

 

“I’ll just grow new ones,” Theo responds, and Stiles can hear the amusement in his voice even with his eyes closed, and – can werewolves even do that? Regrow fangs? Probably. _Ugh._

 

“Great. Means I can do it several times over then,” he mumbles, and rolls back over and goes back to sleep before Theo can ask him about his concussion.

 

………

 

The fourth time, Stiles doesn’t even pull his head out from under his pillow.

 

“Still not dead,” he says into the pillowcase.

 

“Good to know,” Theo chuckles.

 

………

 

The fifth time, he blindly slaps the hand off his shoulder and holds his middle finger up in Theo’s general direction.

 

“You’re welcome,” Theo says, laughing a little, because of fucking _course_ the guy is enjoying this, this sleep deprivation-based _torture,_ the asshole.

 

………

 

The sixth time is – different.

 

In that, instead of waking up to Theo’s hand on his shoulder, Stiles wakes up arching with a surprised gasp under the feel of Theo’s lips and tongue on his nipple.

 

“Is this a better way to wake you up then?” Theo asks after a couple seconds, when all Stiles has done is thread one hand automatically into Theo’s hair (to keep him there or to pull him away? Don’t know, can’t think, just woke up, _slightly distracted_ ) and gasp a bit more as Theo’s tongue swirls around his sensitive skin and Stiles tries to wake the rest of the way up so he can work out what’s going on.

 

“What are you – doing?” Stiles asks, blinking the confused, wide-eyed blink of someone who’s just – well. Of someone who’s just been woken up by someone sucking on their nipple.

 

“Rewarding both of us,” Theo answers, shifting until he’s hovering over Stiles, his stupid muscly chest practically glinting in the dawn light, because he’s actually descended from Hercules, apparently. And then he leans down and latches back onto Stiles’ nipple again, and all thoughts of Greek mythology fly out of Stiles’ head as he arches again at the touch, head pressing down into the pillow and fingers grasping blindly for Theo’s hair.

 

“ _You_ were rudely woken up every hour,” Theo says, leaving Stiles’ nipple behind and trailing his lips from one mole to another even further down, warm puffs of air fluttering against Stiles’ skin with every word. “And _I_ had to put up with your grumpy abuse,” he continues, and oh- _oh_ , ok, wow, he wasn’t kidding last night when he said he wanted to see if he could suck Stiles’ moles right off his skin, wuh- _wow_.

 

“Ab- _buse_?” Stiles demands, hitching the word half way through as Theo moves from one mole down to the next lowest one. “You call that abuse?”

 

“You threatened to pull my fangs out with pliers,” Theo says against Stiles’ skin, and Stiles’ hips twitch as the werewolf reaches with one hand and draws the sheet that’s half-covering Stiles down and away until the human’s bellybutton and lower abdomen are exposed, and oh, oh yeah, clothes, pyjamas, pants, they are not a thing that happened last night, and the flimsy sheet draped over Stiles’ groin and legs has got to be doing, wow, like, _nothing_ to hide the stirrings of interest that are happening down there.

 

And holy shit, Stiles doesn’t know how he missed it before, but naked. Theo, that is, Theo is naked, Theo is just as naked as Stiles, only arguably more so because at least Stiles has a sheet. For what little that’s worth. Theo is, wow, _totally and completely naked_ and already 100-percent hard, dick hanging long and heavy as he hovers over Stiles and – gu- _huh_ – dips his tongue into Stiles’ belly button, holy god.

 

“I’d say that counts as verbal abuse, yeah,” Theo says, and it takes Stiles a few seconds to register that he’s continuing his answer to Stiles’ earlier question because Stiles is slightly distracted by the fact that _Theo’s nose is buried in his happy trail_ and the guy’s tongue is swirling in the hair there like he wants to change the direction it grows in. This, this is, wow, yeah, possibly the best way to wake up in the morning. Who doesn’t like waking up to a blow job? Because that might not be what this is yet, but it’s obvious that’s where it’s headed, and yeah, yes, yep, Stiles is so on board with this.

 

“Threatening you isn’t verbal abuse,” Stiles argues, because he was born to argue, even as Theo’s tongue swipes lower and Stiles’ fingers wind tighter in his hair. “Verbal abuse would be if I called you a variety of colourful and creative insults.”

 

Theo stops swirling his tongue – what, hey, why – and looks up at Stiles with a raised eyebrow and a pointed expression.

 

“I didn’t say I’ve never creatively insulted you, you fucking cockwomble,” Stiles says, rolling his eyes. “I was arguing the point that threatening to play dentist on you with rusty tools doesn’t count as abuse.”

 

Theo tilts his head.

 

“See, I still say it does, but whatever. Shall I continue, or would trading insults be more fun?”

 

Stiles sends him a flat look. Theo smirks wickedly, and ---- dips his head to wrap his mouth around Stiles’ sheet-covered dick, holy _shit._

 

It’s unexpected only because Stiles hadn’t expected it to happen _right then_ – had been expecting Theo to drag it out for longer, make the whole thing borderline _torturous_ , even, because come on that’s totally more the guy’s style – and his hips buck so violently off the bed that Theo moves one hand to Stiles’ waist to pin him down.

 

Theo’s mouth is hot and wet around Stiles’ dick, saliva soaking through the thin sheet rapidly and creating a damp kind of friction, and Stiles doesn’t even know what sounds he’s making but he knows he’s making some kind of noise, and Theo’s chuckling and the sound is going straight through Stiles’ dick into his stomach and up his spine, and he tries to arch into the pressure again but Theo’s hand is firm on his hip, and his strength way outstrips Stiles’ own, so he barely manages an upward twitch, and feels the growl of frustration claw its way out of his throat.

 

Theo pulls off with another chuckle, and Stiles might make a whining kind of sound at the loss.

 

“You know, considering that _I’m_ the werewolf here, you make a lot of animalistic noises,” Theo says, eyes dark as he looks up at Stiles, and it’s a filthy, filthy shot straight out of some kind of porn movie – Theo, stark naked and hard and crouched between Stiles’ spread legs, Stiles’ own erection standing between them and sheathed only in a soaked through bedsheet – and Stiles is actively filing this image away for future spank bank material because he kind of can’t believe this is happening to him right now and he’s going to want to relive this moment later.

 

“You’re hardly a quiet one yourself,” he replies after a beat, voice less steady than he would like, referring to the range of growls and snarls he heard from Theo yesterday.

 

“Oh, I wasn’t complaining,” Theo says, voice deep, and neither was Stiles, Stiles wasn’t complaining either, was merely meeting an observation with a matching observation, not complaining at all, is actually kind of totally into it – but he doesn’t get a chance to say anything else because Theo’s drawing the sheet away and ducking his head back down, and _h-holy shit._

 

Holy shit, so much better without the sheet, fuck.

 

Theo’s lips are stretched wide and his mouth is hot and wet and _moving,_ cheeks hollowing out and filling again as he pumps his head up and down, and the hand that Stiles doesn’t have twisted in Theo’s hair comes up to grip at his pillow instead, fingers clawed and nails digging into the fabric as his hips strain again and again against Theo’s restraining hand.

 

This is so, so different with Theo than it was with Malia. Malia was a quick learner, and she picked up quickly what got a good reaction from Stiles and what didn’t, but even as her confidence grew she still had a relatively small mouth and a relatively shallow reach, and even when she was in the wildest of moods, it’s not like she ever used her full strength against Stiles, and there was always this air of playful delight whenever she’d do this.

 

Theo, on the other hand, is all controlled strength and coiled power and practiced swipes and swirls and sucks. This is part-fun, and part-domination; Stiles couldn’t throw Theo off him if he wanted to (not that he does) and Theo’s hand on Stiles hip is keeping him pressed so firmly into the mattress that despite all of Stiles’ straining and attempted bucking he’s not rising off the bed at all. And ordinarily, Stiles hates yielding – hates allowing someone to exert their strength over him – but his dick is driving the show right now, and his dick is _oh so very happy_ with the attention it’s currently receiving, so the fact that Theo’s using his strength against Stiles isn’t coming up as an issue right now.

 

It’s actually, in fact, kind of hot. Which is a new development. But Stiles is kind of really enjoying the fact that Theo’s not reigning himself in at all right now, when all the other people Stiles runs around with are always so wary about breaking him. Even Malia – who left accidental claw marks all the way down Stiles’ back – would try to keep her strength in check; would pull off, pull away, if she thought she’d hurt him. There’s none of that with Theo, though, and it’s new and enthralling and _exciting._

 

Stiles is already gasping and heaving for breath, one hand clenched in the bedsheets and the other tangled in Theo’s hair, when the werewolf’s tongue runs a stripe up the underside of Stiles’ dick, and Stiles gets halfway through a shout that gets cut off with a startled intake of air as Theo then drops back down and _swallows,_ nose buried deep in Stiles’ curls and the hand on Stiles’ hip twitching and clenching hard enough to bruise. He swallows again around Stiles and the human gasps an inhale, and then Theo hollows his cheeks as he pulls up towards Stiles’ head, wraps his lips securely around it and swipes his tongue through Stiles’ slit, and the sound that pulls free from Stiles’ throat is not one Stiles will ever admit to making.

 

The heat in Stiles’ belly is growing, and it’s growing fast, so when Theo tightens his lips and then _pulls_ back with his tongue to create a suction around the tip of Stiles’ dick that has Stiles almost seeing stars, Stiles tightens his fingers in Theo’s hair and tugs.  


“I’m – I’m,” he starts, but he can’t finish it, can’t get any more than that out, because Theo’s dropping down again and taking him deep, and the hand that had been holding Stiles’ hips down moves away, slides smoothly between Stiles’ thighs, and then there’s fingers pressing at the strip of skin between Stiles’ ass and his balls, and Stiles comes with a shout, hips bucking freely.

 

Theo takes it like he’s got years of practice giving head (maybe he does? Who knows, who _cares_ right now), and swallows and swallows until Stiles’ hips still and he’s left gasping and dry and lax under Theo.

 

The werewolf pulls off with a noise that Stiles thought didn’t exist outside of porn and eels up Stiles’ body like he’s actually the god of sex – all rolling movement and coiled muscles – and when he kisses Stiles, it’s salty and slightly bitter and downright filthy.

 

He kisses Stiles hard and deep, tongue plunging and roaming, and Stiles tries to match him – tries to fight back with his own tongue and his own teeth, because ok, maybe it was super hot the way Theo held him down while he sucked him off, but that doesn’t mean Stiles is going to yield the overall fight and let Theo _win_ (and yes, it’s sex, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that it’s not a _competition_ ) – but at the same time he _has_ just been the recipient of a somewhat mindblowing (ha) blowjob, so he thinks he can be forgiven for not quite doing as well as he usually would.

 

His hand roams down of it’s own accord, fingertips skimming along Theo’s stupidly smooth chest and down, and when he gets to Theo’s dick (shorter than Stiles’, but thicker) he finds the werewolf’s hand already there, pumping away at a steady, slightly frantic pace.

 

Stiles wraps his own hand around Theo’s, and it takes him a few strokes but he falls into a rhythm with Theo, and it’s not long until the werewolf is panting into Stiles mouth as they jerk him off together, until Stiles presses up just enough that he can draw Theo’s bottom lip between his teeth and bite down just a little, and Theo gasps a breath straight into Stiles’ mouth and comes hard, hot ropes of cum splashing up between both of them, and then Theo’s going boneless on top of Stiles, trapping their hands between their bodies as Theo’s whole weight drops onto the human.

 

“Wake me up like that next time you’re checking my concussion, and I promise not to threaten you with amateur dentistry,” Stiles says muzzily into the silence.

 

Theo’s huff of laughter hits the curve of Stiles’ jaw, and when the werewolf says “Deal,” his lips brush against the skin there.

 

There’s silence for a few moments while they both get their breath back, and it’s weirdly comfortable, which is what makes Stiles twitch.

 

“We’re not dating,” he says abruptly, and he knows that it’s apropos of exactly nothing, but it suddenly seems imperative that he make that clear.

 

Theo sluggishly squirms until he can lift his head enough to raise an eyebrow at Stiles.

 

“No, we’re not,” he agrees, and his mouth is very, very close and his lips are very, very pink and swollen.

 

“This is just sex,” Stiles clarifies, because they really do need to be clear on this. “I mean, it shouldn’t even be sex, but apparently this is a thing that’s happening whether I want it to or not, so I’m just making it clear that that’s _all_ it is. There’s no, like, _emotions_ or anything involved in this. This is – this is purely physical.”

 

Theo’s lips are curling with a hint of amusement.

 

“Yup,” he says, bringing one elbow up so he can lean it on the mattress by Stiles’ ear and rest his cheek on his palm, and he’s looking fucking smug and amused and like he thinks Stiles is stating the obvious, and also he’s still lying on top of Stiles and they’re both very naked and covered with the gradually-cooling evidence of what they’ve just done.

 

“I hate you,” Stiles says, because he does.

 

The slight curl at the edge of Theo’s lips blossoms into a full amused smirk.

 

“I know,” he says, grinning, and Stiles narrows his eyes at him.

 

“So anyway,” Theo goes on, ignoring Stiles’ glare entirely, “as much as I’d love to lounge around all day trading sexual favours, it _is_ a school day, and I don’t know about you, but I’m gonna want a shower before we head out, so we’d better get a move on.”

 

“ _Ugh_ ,” Stiles says, dropping his head back to land on his pillow. School is so absolutely the last thing he feels like doing right now. He’d much rather roll back over and go to sleep again, to be honest, but thanks to all the supernatural bullshit in his life, his attendance is suffering enough that he really can’t afford to miss any more than he absolutely has to. Plus, he’s on Liam pick up duty this morning, so.

 

Stiles shoves at Theo with one hand until the other boy rolls off him enough (smirking the whole way, the asshole) that Stiles can roll to the edge of the mattress and sit up, pausing long enough to reach his arms over his head so he can stretch hard enough that his shoulders crack and something in his spine pops happily.

 

“I assume you remember where the towels are,” he says, reaching down to fish his pyjama pants up from where they’re crumpled on the floor just in reach, and shimmying them up over his hips as he stands. It belatedly occurs to him that maybe he should have been more self-conscious just now, but it kind of feels like self-consciousness might be a little redundant, given what he and Theo have already done together. Besides, this is _Stiles’ bedroom_ , and he refuses to feel self-conscious in his own damn room, so.

 

He doesn’t wait for an answer from the werewolf – doesn’t turn to look at Theo as he makes his way out of the room – so he completely misses the expression of frank appraisal and want that flashes across the werewolf’s face as he runs his eyes down Stiles’ spine and across his shoulders, lets his gaze linger on the waistband of Stiles’ cotton pants.

 

Stiles misses all of that entirely, and he grabs a set of clothes as he leaves the room and ducks into the bathroom, showering quickly and dressing, then heading downstairs to start the coffee, and behind him he hears the sounds of Theo closing the bathroom door and starting up the shower.

 

The coffee’s sitting there brewing away and Stiles is halfway through a bowl of high-sugar cereal that only gets to come out of its hiding place on days like today, when Stiles’ dad is on the overnight-and-early-morning shift (and _thank goodness he is,_ given what went down here last night) when there’s a sound behind him and Stiles turns to find Theo standing in the doorway of the kitchen in just a  fucking towel, what, _why,_ why is this a thing Stiles is being forced to deal with, they have _school,_ damnit, and they have to pick up Liam on the way, they do not have _time_ for this.

 

“So – I don’t have any clean clothes,” the practically naked werewolf says, a tad sheepishly, which would be a tone of voice that might suit him more if he weren’t, you know, standing there _practically naked._ The asshole’s still fucking water-flecked and everything, because despite that there’s one around his waist, the dude doesn’t understand the purpose of a towel, apparently.

 

“I thought I might be able to get away with the jeans, at least, but…” the guy continues, trailing off with a grimace, which, fair, Stiles is considering burning his own clothes from last night, because they’re not just dirty, they are literally _filthy_ – covered in jizz and blood and smoke and dirt. And _jizz_. (So much jizz.)

 

Still. This problem has… what, exactly, to do with Stiles?

 

“And this problem has… what, exactly, to do with me?” Stiles asks, raising an eyebrow, and Theo pulls a face at him, like he’s annoyed he has to spell this out.

 

“I’m hoping I can borrow some of your clothes,” he says, leaning against the doorjamb like he’s fucking Adonis or something.  

 

Stiles narrows his eyes at him.

 

“This isn’t some kind of werewolf thing is it,” he says. “Where you want to swap clothes so we smell like each other – like, scent marking me or some bullshit?”

 

Theo rolls his eyes.

 

“First – _if_ I were going to attempt to scent mark you, I’d have _you_ wearing _my_ clothes, not the other way around. Second – anyone with half-decent senses is going to be able to smell us on each other already, even without swapped clothes. I know your poor little human nose can’t pick it, but the shower doesn’t really cover up what’s gone on here between us.”

 

“First of all, fuck you very much, my sense of smell is great,” Stiles says, and then he registers what Theo’s words _mean_ and he just thinks, _fuck._ Because oh, yeah, fuck. _Anyone with half-decent senses_ covers almost Stiles’ entire friendship circle, and he’s pretty sure he’s not ready for everyone to find out what he and Theo got up to yesterday afternoon. And yesterday evening. And this morning.

 

And yet, short of showering in bleach, Stiles doesn’t know what he can do to keep it from them.

 

 _Fucking werewolf senses,_ seriously.

 

“And… second of all?” Theo prompts, when Stiles doesn’t follow up with it automatically.

 

Stiles peers at him narrowly for a moment (and fuck, but the dude is seriously smokin’) and then sighs gustily. He might be an asshole, but he’s not an _asshole,_ and there’s sort of no option other than this, unless Stiles _does_ want to be a total douche and make Theo wear yesterday’s clothes.

 

And besides. It’s not like this’ll _increase_ their chances of being found out by everyone – not if they smell as much like sex and each other as Theo’s implying.

 

“Ugh, fine, yes, whatever, you can borrow some clothes. But you’re buying a breakfast burrito for me and Liam on the way to school.”

 

“You’re eating breakfast _now_ ,” Theo points out, gesturing to the bowl still in Stiles’ hands.

 

“I’m sorry,” Stiles says, raising an eyebrow. “Did you want to go in yesterday’s clothes after all, or…?”

 

Theo snorts and holds up his hands in defeat, backing away out of the kitchen.

 

“Two breakfast burritos, got it,” he says, turning and jogging back up the stairs. Stiles maybe leans out a little to watch. _What?_ The dude has an ass that could challenge the freakin’ _Michael statue._ Stiles is totally allowed to watch as it and the low-slung towel covering it jog back up the stairs.

 

He turns back to his breakfast of sugary goodness – his _first_ breakfast, yay for breakfast burritos – and has poured himself a mug of coffee and is leaning back against the kitchen bench about to take his first sip when Theo comes back down the stairs.

 

“A whole wardrobe of clever puns and hilarious shirts, and you go with that one,” Stiles scoffs when he sees him, because that’s a better option than “Oh _screw you,_ that is _my_ shirt, it shouldn’t look better on _you.”_

 

The shirt in question is a plain light grey, and the werewolf has paired it with a regular pair of jeans. It’s easily the most boring combination that could possibly have come out of Stiles’ wardrobe.

 

Stiles is slightly taller than Theo, but Theo’s the broader of the two of them, so where the shirt on Stiles sit loosely, on Theo it’s just a little too tight, and Stiles can _actually see his nipples_ poking up through the thin fabric. The jeans are a tad too long for the werewolf, and the cuffs of them are bunched a bit around his ankles.

 

The whole thing is unfairly attractive. Stiles kind of hates the guy a little.

 

“Oh I’m sorry,” Theo says, parrying Stiles’ earlier sarcasm back at him. “Did you want it to look like I was wearing your clothes as well as smell like it?”

 

“Ugh,” Stiles says, and starts drinking his coffee, because the guy’s right. Sure, Theo would look amazing in Stiles’ _Support Single Moms_ t-shirt (everyone looks amazing in that shirt; it’s an _amazing shirt_ ), but also, literally everyone in the school would take one look at him and know who’s shirt he’d borrowed. It’s bad enough that practically the whole pack is going to know the second Stiles and Theo are in smelling distance of them without adding the gossip mill of the _whole damn school_ to the situation.

 

“Whatever,” Stiles says, and gestures. “You’ve got two minutes to grab food or coffee if you want it, cause after that my Jeep and I are leaving, and if you’re not in it then you can walk.”

 

Theo heads for the loaf of bread on the counter while Stiles shovels the last of his cereal into his mouth, dumps the bowl in the sink, and then heads back up the stairs to grab his bag and books, and by the time he’s back downstairs again, Theo’s draining the last of a glass of orange juice.

 

“The Jeep is leaving, and it doesn’t care if it’s got an extra passenger or not,” Stiles says as he passes the kitchen, making his way down the hall and grabbing his keys as he goes, and by the time he gets to the front door, Theo’s right behind him, slice of toast held between his teeth and bag hanging off one shoulder.

 

The Jeep starts with no issues, because she is a magical creature who can behave sometimes, and Stiles pats her steering wheel as he backs out of the drive.

 

There’s not much conversation as they drive, via the breakfast burrito place, over to Liam’s – Stiles isn’t much in the mood for making conversation with the werewolf in his passenger seat and Theo is apparently content to enjoy his toast in silence – and when they pull up out the front of Liam’s place, the younger boy is already waiting out the front for them. Stiles rolls his window down.

 

“Chop chop, wereboy,” he calls, even though the kid’s already gathering his stuff up, and he waves Liam’s burrito in his direction as incentive.

 

Sure enough: “You got _breakfast_?” Liam enthuses, and he literally _bounces_ on a couple of steps as he hurries over to the Jeep. And he wonders why Stiles calls him a puppy.

 

“Technically, _I_ got breakfast,” Theo says, and the still-approaching Liam slows and gives him a wary side-eye through Stiles’ window, then flicks his gaze at Stiles questioningly.

 

“It’s fine, Theo’s riding with us today,” Stiles says, and makes a mental note to praise Liam later for his clear continued distrust of Theo. Good were-pup. “Bad news, no shotgun for you. Good news, free breakfast burrito.”

 

“I think I can live with that,” Liam says slowly as he reaches the car and stretches out a hand to the back door handle, letting his gaze drift back to Theo again, the suspicious light in them leashed for the moment, but certainly not extinguished.

 

“Great,” Stiles says, and is gonna follow up with _Hop in already, lets go,_ but then Liam gets the back door open, takes half a step forward, and then reels back as though somebody’s punched him in the face.

 

 _“Oh my god,”_ he says before Stiles can react, reaching one hand up to cover his nose and coughing harshly, gaze bouncing from Stiles to Theo and back again. “Oh my _god,_ what – ”

 

“Hm. We probably should have had the windows open on the drive over,” Theo says, and Stiles can _hear_ the amused smirk in his voice without even looking.

 

“Oh my god, you _fucking asshole,”_ Stiles says, slapping out with one hand and back-handing the werewolf in the arm, because Liam’s reaction is suddenly blinding in its clarity. Theo twitches backwards, laughing.

 

“What?” he defends. “I only just realised!”

 

“That’s a blatant fucking lie,” Stiles snaps, glaring. Geez, like they don’t smell enough like each other to tip literally everyone off, they didn’t need to punch Liam in the face with the left over scent that’s been, fuck, fucking _marinating_ in the Jeep since last night. _Geez,_ no wonder the poor kid was nearly knocked on his ass.

 

“Hey, I’m sleep deprived,” Theo argues, but his attempt at earnestness is ruined by the way he’s still half laughing. “I was up all night making sure _someone_ didn’t die from a concussion, in case you don’t recall. I’m not functioning on all cylinders, you can’t blame me for not noticing.”

 

“I can, and I will,” Stiles bites, because what a load of bullshit. “Wind your damn window down.”

 

Theo does so, still chuckling under his breath. Liam’s still looking from one to the other and back again, gobsmacked.

 

“Did you two – do you…” he says, because he doesn’t seem to believe what his nose is telling him, and he’s struggling to find the words to finish his question, apparently.

 

“Fondue?” Theo supplies with an amused smirk, and Stiles rolls his eyes hard enough that it hurts, because of freaking _course_ the dude’s a Marvel fan.

 

“Dude,” Stiles complains, briefly distracted from his outrage about the scented Jeep. “DC is the only universe allowed to be referenced in this Jeep.” *

 

Theo turns his amused eyebrows and his amused lips and his amused, slightly crinkled nose in Stiles’ direction.

 

“Why restrict yourself to one universe when you can have two?” he asks.

 

“No,” Stiles says, because he will not yield on this. “No Marvel. Not unless you wanna walk.”

 

Theo chuckles and turns back to Liam, who’s still hanging onto the doorframe of the Jeep and staring at them both, waiting for an answer.

 

“And yes,” Theo answers, his smirk growing only more pronounced as the kid’s eyes widen further with surprise. And then, smugly, “Repeatedly.”

 

“Oh my _god_ ,” Stiles mutters, resisting the urge to hit his head against the steering wheel. “Liam, just, fucking – get in, would you? I have Chem this morning and I will not be late, and I am not above making you both walk.”

 

The threat of walking makes Liam jump to attention and then scramble into the car, and Stiles lobs the burrito at him without looking, trusting the kid to catch it, and he releases the handbrake and sets off down the road without further ado.

 

“It’s not _poisoned,”_ Theo says a moment later, and Stiles glances in the rearview mirror to see Liam staring doubtfully down at the burrito in his hand.

 

“It’s not,” Stiles confirms, mentally approving of Liam’s caution again. “We bought them on the way over here. He hasn’t had a chance to do anything to it.”

 

“Gee, thanks,” Theo says sarcastically, levelling a flat look at Stiles. Stiles shrugs unrepentantly.

 

“It’s not that,” Liam says, sounding a little peaky. “I just – I think I’ve lost my appetite.”

 

Stiles squints at him through the rearview mirror.

 

“Seriously?” he says, because really? All it takes to curb this kid’s bottomless stomach is the scent of sex? Stiles will have to remember that the next time the pack comes over for dinner.

 

“I wasn’t expecting to get whacked in the face with it,” Liam defends, scowling. “You don't know what it smells like in here; you'd lose your appetite too. It was a bit of a surprise, that’s all. Since when are you two dating, anyway?” 

 

“We’re not dating,” Stiles says, and Liam looks at him in confusion. “I don’t even like him.”

 

“But…” Liam says, blinking. “You – ”

 

“It’s sort of an _enemies with benefits_ kind of thing,” Stiles says, and steadfastly ignores the smirk Theo’s sending him. Does the guy _have_ any other expressions?

 

“…Riiiight,” Liam says, like he sees their bullshit, but is too polite to call them on it. “Well, whatever. Just – tell me you washed the car since this happened. Tell me these seats have been, like, steam cleaned. With _bleach_.”

 

A glance in the rearview mirror tells Stiles that Liam is trying not to sit on the seat – is trying to sort of hover above it instead, with his legs planted on the floor and one hand braced against the door, and he must have been doing that since he got in, which is kind of hilarious.

 

“The seat’s perfectly clean, Liam,” Stiles says, rolling his eyes again.

 

“The _back_ seat is, at least,” Theo murmurs, and – oh, very heated look in Stiles’ direction, no, fuck, Stiles is driving, does the douchebag have no sense of road safety?

 

“Don’t distract me,” Stiles snaps, straightening the car on the road again, and Theo’s smug smirk intensifies, the asshole.

 

“Oh, _god_ ,” Liam moans. “This is gonna be awful, I can already tell. Can you promise to keep it out of the back seat at least? I’ll never fight anyone for shotgun again, just – keep it out of the back, ok, I need a safe space that hasn’t been… _desecrated.”_

 

Theo hums, and Stiles can _feel_ him staring at him.

 

“I can’t make any promises,” the werewolf says lowly, and Stiles swallows hard and keeps his gaze firmly on the road.

 

“Oh god,” Liam says, and covers his eyes with his hands in despair.

 

(When Stiles picks Liam up for school the next morning, the kid lays a towel gingerly over the backseat and sits on that. Theo laughs so hard Stiles hopes he cracked a rib whilst doing it.)

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm not actually up to date on Teen Wolf, but I have a vague notion of what's going on in the story at the moment. And I have to say, it was the "Why wouldn't I remember Stiles?" that got this posted. This was a half-done piece that was a bunch of not-finished paragraphs that needed to be strung together, and then, _Why wouldn't I remember Stiles_ and, just,I had to do something to commemorate the moment. This ship sails itself, I swear. 
> 
> So this was actually meant to be longer, but I felt here was a good spot to finish for the moment. More to follow, including Malia's reaction, and Scott's _lack_ of reaction, because I love Scott, but lbr he isn't the best at using his werewolf skills, and he's eternally oblivious to everthing except what's right in front of him.


End file.
